FRACTURED LOYALTIES AND FORBIDDEN CLAIMS

Luca’s POV

The pier was a symphony of destruction—gunfire popping like fireworks, waves crashing against the sinking yacht’s husk, Chen’s FBI agents shouting commands into radios. Bodies littered the wet concrete, blood mixing with saltwater in dark pools. Dante’s roar cut through it all, raw and primal, as he charged toward us—gun raised, eyes locked on Rocco’s back. But in that frozen heartbeat, Rocco’s mouth was on mine, his kiss a brutal invasion that stole my breath and ignited something treacherous deep in my core.

His lips were rough, demanding—nothing like Dante’s possessive fire. This was conquest, pure and savage. His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back to deepen the angle, tongue thrusting in without permission, tasting of salt and smoke. I should have fought, should have shoved him away, but the adrenaline from the fight, the betrayals piling up like wreckage, twisted into a dark heat. My body betrayed me—cock stirring, hardening against his thigh as he ground into me, his massive frame pinning me to the container wall.

“Luca!” Dante’s voice cracked like a whip, closer now.

Rocco broke the kiss, smirking down at me with those obsidian eyes. “See? You want this. Boss Sal saw it in you—the fire. The breakable kind.” His free hand groped my ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in possessively. “You’re coming with me, pretty boy. We’ll make you sing.”

Shock warred with unwanted arousal. “What the fuck—get off!”

But he didn’t. Instead, he dragged me deeper into the shadows, away from the main fray, his gun pressed to my side as a silent threat. Dante’s shots rang out—hitting Moretti men closing in to cover Rocco’s retreat. Chaos swallowed us; agents clashed with the remaining Sicilians and Russians, Viktor vanishing into a waiting speedboat, Teresa screaming obscenities as Chen hauled her into cuffs.

Rocco shoved me into a narrow alley between stacked containers, the pier’s underbelly—a maze of rust and darkness. “On your knees,” he growled, voice thick with Chicago grit. “Now.”

I hesitated, heart pounding. This was wrong—betrayal on every level. But the dominance in his command, the raw power radiating from his scarred, tattooed body, hooked something broken in me. The night’s horrors had cracked my resolve; part of me craved the oblivion of submission, even if it was to the enemy.

Dante’s voice echoed distantly: “Where is he? Find him!”

Rocco’s hand clamped on my shoulder, forcing me down. The concrete bit into my knees through wet pants. He unzipped slowly, freeing a cock that matched his build—thick, veined, already hard and leaking. “Suck it, accountant. Show me why Vitale’s so obsessed.”

I glared up, defiance flickering. “Fuck you.”

He laughed, low and menacing, then grabbed my jaw, prying it open. “That’s the plan.” He thrust in without warning—deep, choking me instantly. I gagged, tears springing, but he held my head in place, hips snapping forward in shallow, punishing strokes. “Deeper. Take it like the slut you are.”

Humiliation burned hot, but so did the heat pooling in my gut. His dominance was unrelenting—fingers twisting in my hair, pulling painfully to control the angle. He face-fucked me with brutal efficiency, balls slapping my chin, grunting commands: “Swallow around me. Good boy—tighter.”

I obeyed, hating myself, but my own cock throbbed painfully in my pants. The risk—the gunfire nearby, Dante hunting us—amplified everything. Rocco’s free hand reached down, palming my erection through fabric. “Hard for me already? Pathetic. Vitale hasn’t trained you right.”

He pulled out suddenly, strings of spit connecting us, then hauled me up by the collar. “Strip. Everything off.”

The alley was exposed—anyone could round the corner. “Here? You’re insane.”

His slap cracked across my face—sharp, stinging. “Do it, or I drag you back naked.”

Trembling, I shed my clothes—shirt, pants, underwear—standing bare under the faint pier lights. Cold air pebbled my skin; Rocco’s gaze raked over me like ownership. He spun me, slamming my chest against the container wall. “Hands flat. Don’t move.”

I braced, breath ragged. He kicked my legs wide, then bound my wrists behind my back with zip ties from his pocket—tight, cutting circulation. Helpless. Exposed.

“Good pet,” he murmured, voice dripping condescension. His hands roamed—pinching nipples to agony, slapping my cock until it wept pre-cum. “Beg for it. Beg me to fuck you like Vitale never could.”

“Please…” The word escaped, broken. “Fuck me, sir.”

“Louder.” Another slap to my ass—harder, leaving a handprint.

“Please, sir! Fuck me!”

He chuckled darkly, then dropped behind me. His tongue assaulted my hole—rough, invasive, teeth grazing the rim as he spread me wide. I moaned, pushing back despite myself. He inserted fingers—three at once, no lube, scissoring brutally. Pain blurred into pleasure; I sobbed, rocking against him.

“Desperate little whore,” he taunted, standing. His cock pressed against me—huge, unyielding. “This’ll break you.”

He thrust in raw—one savage push, burying half his length. I screamed, vision spotting. He didn’t pause—pulled back, slammed deeper, repeating until fully seated. The stretch burned like fire; he choked my throat from behind, cutting air, controlling every breath.

“Breathe when I say,” he growled, pounding relentlessly. Each thrust hammered my prostate; his other hand jerked my cock in a vise grip—twisting, edging me without mercy. “You come only for me now. Say it.”

“Only for you, sir… please…”

He tightened the chokehold—air gone, world narrowing to the brutal rhythm. “No. Hold it.” He edged me cruelly—stroking fast, then pinching the base to deny release. Tears streamed; I begged incoherently.

Finally, he slammed deepest, choking harder. “Now. Come, slave.”

I shattered—body seizing, cum erupting in violent spurts. The orgasm ripped through me like lightning; Rocco didn’t stop, fucking through it, then pulled out and painted my back with his release—hot, marking me as his.

We panted; he cut the zip ties, but kept a hand on my neck. “You’re mine now, accountant. Sal wants your brains; I want the rest.”

Dante burst around the corner then—gun raised, face a mask of fury and heartbreak. “Get your hands off him!”

Rocco smirked, zipping up. “Too late, Vitale. He’s tasted real power.”

But as Dante advanced, Sofia appeared behind him—vault drive in hand. “Luca… the proof. It’s all here. But Sal’s not the end. The Morettis are working with someone inside—Father Pietro’s confession was a plant. The real poisoner… it’s me.”

Her words hit like a bomb. Sofia? My sister—the avenger, the doctor—had poisoned Marco? For what?

The pier fell silent, agents closing in. But Viktor’s speedboat revved in the distance, Teresa aboard—escaping with Sal in tow?

No. Sal stepped from shadows, unharmed. “Good work, Rocco. Bring the prize.”

As Rocco grabbed my arm, Dante lunged. But Sofia raised her gun—at me. “Don’t move, brother. This family’s poison runs deeper than you know.”

Whose side was she on? And what ancient vendetta had turned my sister into the ultimate betrayer?